


The Pain of Today

by CamsthiSky



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU, Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Brothers, Damian Wayne is Robin, Depression, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, References to Batman and Robin, References to Depression, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2017-12-29
Packaged: 2019-02-23 09:42:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13187439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CamsthiSky/pseuds/CamsthiSky
Summary: Dick wants to hit something. Or scream. Or cry. Or a million other things that are impossible in this moment, because he’s barely holding himself together enough to exist right now, even though all he wants to do is to just. Not.





	The Pain of Today

**Author's Note:**

> thegalacticpope asked: hey its me here with a prompt, which is simple as Dick and Damian angff. Have fun!!
> 
> This isn't angff. Sorry.

Dick wants to hit something. Or scream. Or cry. Or a million other things that are impossible in this moment, because he’s barely holding himself together enough to exist right now, even though all he wants to do is to just. Not.

But he  _has_  to hold it together. He has fix tape over the worst of his cracks and go on pretending that none of them are there, because that’s the only way he can function. Acknowledging the broken pieces are only going to bring his family running, and he doesn’t have energy to deal with that right now. Not with a million and one other things vying for his attention.

So Dick does what he does best. He pastes a smile on his face, no matter how stiff and wooden it feels, and pretends that nothing’s wrong while his brain rattles with bits and pieces of case information, the new dealers he’ll have to take down next week before they send for a new shipment, and the worry over what Bruce could have called him to the manor for.

In all honesty, Dick doesn’t want to be here. No matter how much he loves it, he can feel the weight of Alfred’s disapproving look as he takes Dick’s coat in the foyer. He can see Bruce’s frown a few seats away at the dining table at dinner. He can hear Damian’s small scoff when he turns down Bruce’s offer for Nightwing to patrol with Batman and Robin tonight.

He loves his family, but they can see right through him, sometimes. Some performer he is.

Dick tries to keep pretending anyways.

To his surprise, though, it isn’t Bruce that corners him first. It’s  _Damian._

He catches Dick in that time between dinner and patrol—corners him, really. There’s something. To the set of his shoulders. The cant of his head. The downward turn of his lips. It set off alarm bells in Dick’s head, and before he really understands what’s happening, Dick freezes, one hand on his old bedroom’s doorknob. He waits to go in, though, because Damian’s got this  _look_  in his eye.

It’s the same look that Damian used to get when  _Dick_  was his Batman, and something would happen that he didn’t quite understand how to feel about. Dick had learned early on to never ignore that look.

“Damian?” Dick prompts softly when the two of them spend another minute just looking at each other.

“You’re upset,” Damian says, green eyes meeting Dick’s head on, without wavering.

Yes.” Dick decides to be honest. He doesn’t like lying to his family, especially when asked about things outright. It doesn’t mean he’s going to unload his problems on a thirteen year old kid, though. Dick leans onto the door. “I have a lot on my plate right now.”

Damian hesitates a moment, before saying, “You aren’t upset with Father.”

Dick frowns, his eyebrows crinkling. “No? Should I be?”

“You declined patrolling,” Damian says, and he’s not quite meeting Dick’s eyes. “I assumed it was because you and Father were arguing once again,” Damian scowls, like a thought he didn’t like just occurred to him. “Then was it Drake? Todd?”

“Bruce doesn’t have anything to do with this,” Dick says, and he hates how weary he sounds. “And neither do Tim or Jason.”

Sometimes, Dick wonders how there are people that can’t read Bruce or Damian as well as he can. How they look at their faces and declare that all they see is indifference, or irritation, when Dick can read leagues of emotions in just the minute shift of their eyes, or the twitch of their mouths. Dick’s good at reading people, or so he’s told, but apparently he seems to be of a select few that can understand that a lack of words from Damian or Bruce can mean a whole lot more than a full sentence.

So what Damian doesn’t say tells quite a lot.

Dick closes his eyes. “And because I’m not mad at Bruce, Tim, or Jason, you think that I have to be upset with  _you.”_

Damian doesn’t say anything, but he glares at the carpet, jaw clenched, and that’s pretty much all the confirmation Dick needs.

“Come here, please,” Dick says, standing up straight and holding his arms open.

Damian startles, his head whipping up to look at Dick’s stance. He looks like he’s about to protest with a storm of insults, but Dick’s tired.  _Exhausted_. And his little brother thinks that because he won’t patrol with him that it means that Dick’s  _mad_  at him. Which is all kinds of wrong.

“Please,” Dick says again, his voice dropping to a whisper. His lips twitch into something that’s probably soft and sad, and he continues, “Please just let me hug you for a second, okay? For my sake?”

Apparently, that’s enough to have Damian stepping a few steps forward and into Dick’s embrace, and Dick folds Damian into his arms and just lets himself  _hold_  his brother. Damian’s arms eventually come up to wrap lightly around Dick’s middle, and Dick buries his face in Damian’s hair in return.

A second turns into several minutes. Dick holds his baby brother and just  _contemplates._

This is all messed up. Damian had though that because Dick hadn’t paid attention to him—hadn’t wanted to go on patrol with him—that it had meant Damian had somehow done something wrong. And Dick—that’s Dick’s fault.

Honestly, he doesn’t even understand what’s  _wrong_  with him, anyways. He’s tired, and frustrated, and angry in a way he hasn’t been in  _years_ , and he doesn’t understand  _why._  But he knows that those cracks are showing through, and Damian had misinterpreted them.

He’s having so much trouble with this. With expressing his love for his family. With making sure that they know Dick’s angry with himself, not with them. With going to someone when those dark thoughts surge up and try to take over his head, seeping in through those cracks he’d done a shoddy job of taping up.

And it shouldn’t be like that. It  _shouldn’t_.

“I’m sorry that you thought I was angry with you,” Dick says at last, his voice muffled by Damian’s hair. “I’m not.”

Dick’s sure that Damian’s scowling when he says, “Then why aren’t you going on patrol? Are you—you aren’t injured, are you?”

There’s only a moment of hesitation before Dick realizes that  _this_  is the moment to say something. This is the moment where he can admit that he isn’t okay.

But he’s also not going to unload his problems on a thirteen year old boy. No matter how mature Damian can be.

“Richard,” Damian says. Not  _Grayson._  And he doesn’t pull away, either. “If you would like to speak to me, I am here.”

That makes Dick smile. “I’m not injured,” he tells Damian. “Not like that. I guess, I’m just dealing with a few things, and if I went on patrol—”

 _I might have a hard time not flinging myself off a bridge,_  is what he doesn’t say, but Damian seems to understand anyways. Or at least, he decides not to ask Dick to finish his sentence. Instead, Damian pulls away from him, taking a step backwards so that he can fully look at Dick.

“I will tell Father that we need to skip patrol tonight,” Damian tells him, his eyes determined.

Dick blinks. “Wait—”

“A movie night,” Damian continues. “I’ll even let you pick one of those ridiculous Disney movies you love so much.”

“Damian—”

“I will go and fetch Pennyworth. Perhaps he will help us make—”

_“Damian.”_

Dick’s tone and a hand on his wrist stops Damian in his tracks, from where he looks like he’d just been about to turn around and head down the hall. Maybe towards the study, or the kitchen, where Bruce and Alfred will surely be respectively. Damian’s gaze is steady, and he waits for Dick to speak patiently.

“You don’t have to do that,” Dick says after a stretching silence. “Only if you want to.”

That seems to catch Damian off guard, but he schools his expression almost instantly, scowling up at Dick. “I would not be doing any of this if I did not want to, Grayson,” Damian tells him. Then his tone softens just a touch, and he looks down at Dick’s hand still wrapped gently around his wrist. “And we’re still partners. Batman or Nightwing, we’re still partners. And it’s Robin’s job to look out for his partner when they’re injured. No matter the kind of injury.”

Dick is speechless for a second, something in his chest catching, until his eyes start burning and he manages to choke out a watery chuckle. “Thank you.”

Damian nods, still not looking at Dick directly. “Do you—Do you require another embrace?”

Dick gently tugs his little brother forward, and wraps him up again. Damian’s hands are on his back, just resting there, and Dick lets something much better than tape soothe those cracks of his.

Him and Damian stand in the hallways for a long time, and when he finally pulls away again, and starts down the hallway towards Bruce’s study, to tell him the news of skipping patrol together to watch movies and eat snacks until they fall asleep, Damian’s there next to him every step of the way.


End file.
